


Not Wrong

by WritersBlock92



Category: Frightmare (1983)
Genre: Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21581593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritersBlock92/pseuds/WritersBlock92
Summary: Growing up in a rural town has Bo convinced that he'll have to live his life pretending that he's a normal boy. That he isn't gay. Then he meets Stu and he nearly loses it all.M rating is for a short, but kind of graphic depiction of homophobic violence in the beginning.
Relationships: Stu/Bobo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Pheonix Feathers

Bo had known that there was something wrong with him from the very beginning. The other boys his age had started to turn their attention away from each other and onto the girls in their grade. 

"Look at that one, Bo!" 

"I'd give anything for a night with that girl, Bo, wouldn't you?"

"Come on Bo, go ask her out!"

He didn't get the appeal. To him, girls were just people. Regular people, just like anyone else. Why would you spend all of your time obsessing over them, dreaming about them, scheming to get time alone with them. It wasn't long before he started hearing whispers about *homosexuals*. A boy in his class had an uncle get very sick and had to leave early in the semester. Soon after the teachers started whispering about things he didn't understand, using words his young teenage self hadn't heard before like *gay* and *AIDs.* He caught on quick. Dreaming about boys made you a *homosexual*, and those people weren't to be emulated because they were sinners and they always got sick. Getting sick meant getting AIDs and AIDs was fatal. AIDs was God's way of punishing those filthy *homosexuals*. His father made sure he knew that. Thinking back, maybe his dear ol' dad had known. 

The shame that had been beat into him hadn't stopped his fantasies, however. He still dreamed about boys, still thought about them, still felt that way. It took precisely six months of crying every time he masturbated for him to wonder if he could live his whole life that way. What if he just hadn't met the right kind of girl yet? Would he still feel this way when he got married? What if someone noticed him staring? 

His senior year in high school a boy his age was found dead in a ditch in the next county over. The local police told people that homosexuals from out of town must have done it and left town shortly after. Bo had emptied his lunch in the toilet. Somehow, deep in his soul, he knew that the boy in that ditch could have been him. The photo on the news haunted him. That boy, his face had been purple with blood and bruises, painted across his regal features like a map of Bo's own shame. 

So he stopped thinking about it, slogging through his senior year like he didn't feel anything. He spent homecoming with a girl too insecure to notice he wasn't really into her and had his first kiss. She was an ok kisser. He was thinking about Killian O'Brian, an Irish boy who'd been the lead in their school play that year.

Something about the theater called to Bo. He could climb up onto the stage and be *anyone.* A knight, a lawyer, a doctor, a faerie, a straight man. A normal man. Kissing girls on stage was easy. It didn't feel like it was really him up there taking a woman into his arms like she was the light of his life, no it was a caricature of a person, a mask he'd crafted out of a script and a dream. Bo was safe in the theater. When the curtain closed and his part was over, he could turn around and use those skills he'd learned on the stage to navigate safely through his life. He was playing a cartoon version of himself that he'd created out of his father's shame and his own deep-seated fear of death and ridicule. Nobody in his graduating class suspected that he was different. He was safe. 

So Bo had gone off to college, a small acting college with a few famous names on its alma mater list, and he'd continued his life like that. Wrapped in his safety blanket of theater and quiet introversion. 

Until Stu. 

Stu was simultaneously Bo's favorite person on Earth and his absolute worst nightmare. Stu was funny and charismatic and stunning and Bo felt like he could go on and on and on chattering away about Stu's best qualities. He wandered around the world with casual mischievousness in his every move like he'd be up for just about anything, bright eyes sparkling at the first mention of trouble. Stu was short and thin and moved like a dancer and Bo knew for a fact that he could lift him one-armed. Sometimes Bo thinks Stu looks like Prince Charming, especially after he tells a joke and everyone laughs and he looks at Bo like, 'Aren't I so funny?' and Bo thinks 'yes you are.'

There was something truly terrifying about a man so perfect because Bo had worked so hard on his pretend straight man act and here was Stu waltzing into his life like it was nothing. A year and a half of carefully crafted disguise melted down the drain in a single moment. Bo was so utterly in love that it physically hurt. 

Stuey has a habit of latching on to him, throwing his arms around Bo's shoulders from behind and leaning into him like they're the best of friends. Bo kind of hates him for it. Because, really, what is he supposed to do? Right now, he can feel Stu's hot breath on his neck, steady and calm. He can feel the shorter man's heartbeat, pounding against his shoulder blade like a bass drum *thump, thump, thump*. Stu's brown hair tickles his face and his aftershave wafts into his nose and for a second Bo forgets to breathe. He's never sure what to do with his hands when Stu is this close to him, so he let his arms dangle by his side like he's not hyper-focused on the smell of his best friend's aftershave. 

There's a conversation going on around the two of them. Saint, Oscar, and Eve are arguing in the living room about something on the news and Donna is halfway through lighting a cigarette when she winks at him. For a single moment his heart drops and he panics, but Stu's laugh sounds from behind him. Bo relaxes. Then Stu leans forward, burying a yawn in the crook of Bo's neck and then resting his head there like he'd done it a million times before. He hadn't. Bo oscillates rapidly between 'what the fuck' and 'please don't move' for a second before Donna butts in again. 

"Stuey you look so tired. Get some sleep." 

"I feel like I haven't slept in days." 

"There's a bed upstairs with your name on it." She laughs, crooking an eyebrow at him like *what are you still doing down here, Stuey.* Bo turns his head slightly, careful not to jostle his friend into moving. 

"Sleep. We have rehearsal in the morning." Stu sighs dramatically, pulling away. 

"I haven't gone over my lines yet." For a moment Bo thinks *Stu what the hell why not* but Stuey has already latched onto him again, craning his neck around Bo's shoulders so he can bat his big hazel eyes at him.

"Go over my lines with me," Stu says, squeezing his bicep. "Come on you said it yourself, rehearsals are tomorrow we can't forget our lines, man." Bo's mind whites out on him. 

"uh yeah, sure. No problem, dude." Donna rolls her eyes. Stu is already bounding up the stairs. Bo makes eye contact with Donna for a second and she rolls her eyes again, this time directly at him. 

"You're an idiot."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bo follows Stu upstairs, carefully pushing open the door to his room like he'd find the smaller man already asleep. He doesn't. Instead he finds Stu standing in the middle of the bedroom, his script haphazardly thrown to the side, shoes kicked off but nowhere in sight. He looks tense. This version of Stuey is a totally different guy than the one who was just moments away from napping on his shoulder downstairs. 

"Stuey?" Bo asks, concern filtering through his voice. Stu relaxes a bit, awkwardly bounding forward to pull him over the threshold. As he reaches past Bo to close the door behind him, Stu's hand grips his shoulder. Bo flounders for a second. "W-what parts did you want to go over?" 

The smaller man blinks up at him, brows furrowed, mouth agape like he hadn't even considered that. He flicks his eyes between Bo and the door and then back to Bo.

"I - I don't." 

A beat passes between them. 

"I don't understand." 

Stu deflates. He steps back and Bo thinks for a second that he looks like he's just realized something horrible. It occurs to Bo that something important is happening here between them, but Bo is afraid and anxious and wants to crawl into a ditch and never move again. He knows that if Stu leaves now, Bo will lose whatever chance he's being offered here. 

"Wait," He says, reaching forward for Stu. Bo has never been good at initiating contact, so he lets his hand hang there, waiting on his friend to move first. Stu's eyes travel up his arm to meet his gaze. He blinks, a sigh coursing through his body like a wave had crashed over him. 

"Okay." 

And then Bo's life changes all at once. Stu steps forward, pulling Bo flush against him. He has one hand on his hip, fingers tangled in his belt loop, and one hand on his cheek with his long fingers curled around the back of his head and his lips are on Bo's in once quick, chaste, motion. 

Oh. 

Stu doesn't kiss him again, instead he stands there, hands all over Bo's body, eyes desperately searching his eyes for some sign that his risk had been worth it. 

*oh.* 

Stu bounces up and down on his toes, eyes beginning to water like he's taking Bo's silence as torture. "Come on, Bobo, don't do this to me," He chokes, running his thumb over Bo's cheek.

Silence. 

Bo wants to respond, really he does, but he's too busy wondering if he's really standing there or if this is one of those nightmares where he gets outed and ends up like that boy on the news. 

"Say something... please," Stu's voice cracks and Bo's brain turns back on, snapping back into place like a rubber band just in time to see his Prince Charming's panicked tears run down his cheeks. Bo takes a shaky breath. Then he pulls Stuey back into his arms, dipping down to meet his lips. 

"Oh!" Stu's tears smear on his cheeks as they kiss, grabbing at each other like drowning men starved of air. Even as he cradles the man in his arms, relishing the feeling of his lithe form against his chest, Bo still isn't sure that he's not dreaming. "Oh god, I thought..." Stu says, 

"Sorry, I just... I didn't know..." Bo can't find the right words. "I didn't mean to make you cry." 

Stu shakes his head, laughing a little now. "No, no, it's okay. For a second I thought maybe I'd been wrong is all." 

"Not wrong."


	2. Epilogue

Even with his glasses off and all the lights dimmed, save the one jar candle they had lit on the nightstand, Bo could just make out the room around him. Thick curtains bellowing in the breeze, the open window chilling them in the dark, their clothes in a heap at the foot of the bed. Stu was fast asleep by now, his breath ghosting rythmically over Bo's chest where his head was resting. *He's exactly as clingy when he's sleeping as he is when he's awake*, Bo thought with a soft smile. Stu had tucked himself neatly into his side, one leg thrown over his, fingers resting softly over his navel. He'd pressed his body as tight into Bo as he could. Earlier, he'd been running his fingers idly through Bobo's chest hair, but that was before he'd dozed off. 

He'd been so happy and animated earlier. He'd talked Bo's ear off about their future together and how much he'd been afraid to say anything and how excited he was that they'd talked and, and, and. Bo had just listened along quietly, interjecting when he was supposed to. Stu was always a little more animated than him. 

Now, however, in the chill night air, Stu's brows furrowed in his sleep. He began to fidget slightly, hands fisting against Bo's skin, curling tighter against him, whimpering quietly. Bo's heart broke, pity and despair seeping out of his heart and settling into his bones. _Of course._ As a gay man, Bobo knew with painful certainty that the world was cruel to people like he and Stu. He had a hard time naming any gay man or lesbian woman they knew that didn't have nightmares, but Stu felt different. Stu was different. To Bo, Stuey was Prince Charming himself, flitting through life like the perfect, happy gay. 

Bobo finally moved as Stu's first tears started falling, hitting Bo's chest like lightning bolts. He reached over, throwing one arm around Stu's hips and the other around his shoulders and hauled the smaller man into a tight embrace. He rubbed his thumbs softly over the space between his shoulder blades and the divots in his back, still unsure if Stu was awake or asleep. It didn't matter. Bo knew what those nightmares were like and nothing made his Prince Charming happier than physical affection. 

"Bobo?" Stu's shaky voice called out. He pulled away slightly, moving to sit up, but Bobo wrapped his arms tighter around him. 

"Hey it's okay. it's okay." He said, burying his fingers in Stu's short hair. Stuey didn't fight it, instead totally collapsing back into Bo and the warmth of his bed to let his tears out. As the sobs wracked his body, Bobo kept repeating those words to Stu _Its okay. I'm here._ like a mantra. Stuey's fingers dug into his back like claws. 

"It won't always be this way, Stuey. Promise." 

Stu didn't respond, but Bobo promised himself he'd etch that promise into his heart and never forget it.


	3. Epilogue Part 2

It was raining. The water hit their umbrella almost rhythmically, as if to a beat known only to the cruel mistress of death. It was cold outside. A winter rain, of all things. Stu’s suit coat didn’t really prepare him for the bone chilling effect of being outside in a cemetary in the middle of a winter rain. Everything about him was wet, from his hair to his socks. His tears, however, were hot, burning up his throat and heating up his face. He looked away, unable to even look at the young and attractive body in the casket. 

There had been far too many young gay men dying off around them. One moment they were warm and alive and the next, gone. Wasting away, turning into sunken, grey ghouls. Too many of them were dear friends. “Bobo?” He said, turning to face his more stoic partner. The leaves mushed under his shoes. 

Bobo’s face was blank. Extreme emotion always kind of made Bobo shut down, as if his brain had to stop and try to process the heavy emotions before he could function. He was almost totally rigid, breath shallow, eyebrows furrowed. Stu’s heart fell. He knew Bo would take this heavy. He and Johnny had been so close. 

“Bo, baby. Look at me.” Stu put a hand on his partner’s cheek, turning his face toward him. Bo’s first tear fell, then. “Oh, Bobo.” How do you comfort someone like Bobo? 

Stu lurched forward into him, wrapping one arm around him and pressing their faces together. “Its okay. Hey, its okay.” He said, taking a deep breath. One kiss for each tear. Bo’s chest shook as it finally hit him. “Its okay, love, its okay.” One kiss for each tear. Bo’s face was hot and salty against his lips. 

They just stood there for a long while, in the rain in front of Johnny’s grave. Stu wasn’t sure how many more of their friends would get sick, but he hoped dearly that this one would be the last. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could be strong for Bobo.


End file.
